Chapter Four #2
As for her feelings… Yes, there was a powerful physical attraction, but no one knew better than she not to trust that. Once, she’d naively let attraction lead her astray and years later she still paid for that mistake. She’d learnt her lesson. She found it hard to trust any man now.
‘He tracks you with his eyes, did you know that?’
Rosamund’s heart jerked hard against her ribs and she felt a betraying flutter low inside, but frowned and said, ‘He’s my bodyguard! He supposed to keep an eye on me.’
Lucie’s voice softened. ‘You’re not as good an actor as your mother, cherie. But if you don’t want to talk about it…’
She didn’t. For some reason Fotis Mavridis loathed her. It was shaming to admit, even to herself, but she could neither fully reciprocate that feeling, nor conjure total disinterest.
‘What are you looking at out there?’
She knew the view beyond the net curtain was of cracked concrete and overgrown wasteland.
‘Come and see for yourself.’
Reluctantly, she crossed the small room to look through the opaque curtains.
Fotis wasn’t waiting in an attitude of boredom or intent alertness. He was dribbling a basketball, weaving between a gang of teenagers before passing it to a huge youth with dreadlocks who shot it into a lopsided basketball hoop.
A ragged cheer went up and a smaller kid dashed in and grabbed the ball. Fotis cut a glance towards the flat then away, joining the ragtag group as it chased up the makeshift court.
Rosamund and Lucie watched for several minutes. The game was quick and the rules flexible and she was fascinated to see that while the locals gave no quarter, nor did they deliberately jostle the outsider. They accepted him.
Every couple of minutes he turned to look at the flat, clearly checking she didn’t need him. Then he’d immerse himself in the game. Watching him move was a treat. He was agile and fast. She noticed he also shared the ball, including with the slower, less talented kids.
‘You’re right,’ she murmured. ‘Not such a prig after all.’ Just with her. What had she done to warrant the judgemental attitude?
‘Don’t you have another event to prepare for?’
Rosamund dragged her attention from the action outside. ‘Are you attending? I could collect you—’
‘Not my scene. It never was. I was happy behind the cameras but not in the limelight. Now…’ Lucie’s suddenly stern voice brooked no opposition. ‘It’s time you left. I can see you haven’t been sleeping. You’ll need extra time with the concealer before tonight.’
Rosamund rolled her eyes, torn between a smile and chagrin that it was so obvious. But then Lucie was an expert. ‘Yes, ma’am. Any other tips?’
‘Only one.’ The older woman reached up for a hug and squeezed tight. Rosamund returned it fervently. ‘Stop tormenting yourself and sleep with the man. He mightn’t be perfect, no man is, but I’d like to see you with a real sparkle in your eyes again.’
‘You’re very quiet.’ His deep voice broke the silence.
Rosamund lifted one shoulder and watched the pedestrians strolling down the now tree-lined streets, so different from Lucie’s neighbourhood. More than once she’d offered to help her find a new place but she’d refused, insisting the flat was home and she didn’t want to leave.
‘I could say the same to you.’
Tired of her circling thoughts, she turned to watch him drive. His dark hair was rumpled and there was a faint sheen to his olive skin, making her wonder if it would taste salty on the tongue.
Biting down a snatched sigh, she squeezed her thighs together, trying to ignore the thoughts Lucie’s frank advice had unleashed. And the melting sensation between her legs.
For the last fifteen minutes she hadn’t been able to eradicate thoughts of what it would be like to sleep with Fotis Mavridis.
Sleep! That’s the last thing you want to do with him.
Lucie was right about one thing. Rosamund was attuned to him.
He’d insisted on holding the car door open for her, which meant she’d passed close by him.
The faintest tang of fresh male sweat and hot man lingered even now in her nostrils, teasing her.
He smelled better than any cologne, better even than sunshine on mown grass or freshly baked bread.
She swallowed hard, again pushing away thoughts of licking his skin, tasting his mouth.
Maybe she should take Lucie’s advice. But not with Fotis Mavridis. She wasn’t masochistic enough to make herself vulnerable to a man who held her in contempt.
Though, now she thought about it, the look in his eyes as she’d moved past him into the four-wheel-drive hadn’t been contempt. Nor had it been boredom. She’d felt the weight of his regard in every feminine corner of her body. Felt it again now as he cast her a sidelong look from narrowed eyes.
Heat shimmered in the air between them.
You’re imagining things just because Lucie thought—
‘Tell me about your friend. How do you know her?’
‘Why? She’s not a security threat.’
Did he grit his teeth? It would be some recompense to know she tested his patience as much he did hers.
‘I’m just curious. You live in separate countries. You’re a princess and she lives in social housing. How did you meet?’
‘She was a friend of my mother’s,’ Rosamund said after a moment. It wasn’t a secret, after all. ‘She was a make-up artist and often worked with my mother. They did a lot of films together.’
‘And you still keep in contact.’
Rosamund stared at his profile, trying to read his expression, but couldn’t. She shrugged. ‘She’s a friend. I’ve known her all my life.’
She’s the closest thing I have now to a mother.
Not that Lucie was particularly maternal, and she always brushed off Rosamund’s offers of assistance, as she had Rosamund’s mother’s. But Lucie was genuine. She cared and was frank with her opinions and advice.
‘She worked with your mother yet didn’t attend the reception last night?’
‘She doesn’t have much patience for showbiz glitz and there were people there she didn’t want to see.’
Lucie’s outspokenness had won her many friends but powerful enemies too.
Seeing he was about to question her again, Rosamund asked one of her own. ‘Why did you slip that kid your card?’
For a second deep-set eyes met hers from under winged black brows. ‘You saw that?’
‘Was it meant to be secret?’
‘No.’ But he lingered over the word as if wishing she hadn’t noticed. Finally he said, ‘I thought he had promise.’
‘At basketball?’
To her astonishment the corner of his mouth quirked up, creating a tiny curling groove in his lean cheek. ‘Hardly. But we got talking about maths. One of his friends was ribbing him about being a nerd.’
‘Maths?’
That groove deepened and she stared, fascinated at what could almost be a hint of a shadow of a smile. Who’d have thought it of the iceman?
‘You know, numbers. Algebra.’
‘I do indeed.’ She’d been a competent maths pupil but competent hadn’t been enough for her father. He’d wanted excellence in all things. He’d engaged a university lecturer to give her extra tuition. How she’d hated those sessions. ‘Why give him your card?’
‘Because if I’m right about his promise, it would be a waste for him not to fulfil it. He’s in his last year of school. I told him if he made it through the year with good marks, to contact me.’
Rosamund sat back in her seat, astounded. ‘You offered him a job?’
‘Of course not. I don’t know enough about him. But, if he has the determination to finish, with decent grades, he could have potential.’
‘To work for you? You need mathematicians?’
After a pause he nodded. ‘It’s one of the skill sets we use.
But there’s a big gap between raw talent and fulfilling it.
I don’t believe in holding out false promise.
But if I’m right, we could find a university scholarship for him.
If he grabs the opportunity and proves himself hard-working, it would help him build a career, even if not with my company. ’
Flabbergasted, Rosamund stared as he focused on the road, apparently unaware of how astonishing his actions were. She’d thought him many things but not philanthropic.
The fact it was a teenager he aimed to help impressed her too. That was the age, as she knew, when many fell through the cracks. ‘You seemed to get on well with those teens.’
‘You thought I wouldn’t?’
She shrugged. ‘People often respond well to cute children but can be less generous with older kids.’
‘They all need support and encouragement, whatever their age. Too often kids are vulnerable.’
His tone made her instincts twitch. This mattered to him. ‘Were you?’
He shot her a look designed to shut her down. Instead it heightened her suspicion that this was personal. His early days had been tough. ‘Few of us have picture-perfect childhoods.’
A sharp laugh escaped before she could prevent it. ‘You think I did? Don’t believe everything you read.’
Her father had been a tartar, continually belittling his wife and daughter for being too friendly or informal.
The vivacity and charisma he’d first admired in his wife had later enraged him, when he saw how small he looked in comparison.
Rosamund took after her mother so had spent most of her life being berated and punished.
She looked away as they continued in silence.
But surreptitiously she watched his easy competence, driving through the congested streets. He had an alert confidence, an air of control, and she wondered what his story was. Her attempt to discover more about him online had revealed little.
He annoyed her and seemed to delight in showing how little he liked her. Yet she felt an uncanny certainty that he knew what he was doing, not just in protecting her, but in seeing promise in a Parisian schoolkid. He’d even won Lucie’s approval, though she’d pretended not to be impressed.
But if his judgement were so good, why treat Rosamund as a pariah? She was on the verge of ignoring pride and asking when he said, ‘You did an impressive job last night, playing to the cameras. Everyone bought your story.’